


Death's Head

by saladcannibal



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Gift Fic, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saladcannibal/pseuds/saladcannibal
Summary: "...A moth is a creature that, despite being most active at night, is drawn to light so indiscriminately that it is most often drawn to flame. In that way, though it is at its core drawn to light and the good it symbolizes, it is also drawn to its own destruction, unaware until it’s been consumed by fire..."sc1. Regis comes to consciousness for the first time since Stygga Castlesc2. Regis finds a gift for his friend
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein & Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	Death's Head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicedracula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicedracula/gifts).



> A gift for my wonderful sister.
> 
> Note: I don't remember if it's book canon, game canon, or an accepted fandom fact that vampires don't get intoxicated off each other, but let's ignore that idea entirely. :)

Regis had not expected to wake again. This was not something he’d been aware of in the tortuous eternity of his second death, but as the world came into focus, somewhere dark and cool underground, the fact that he was alive immediately confused him. He laid in a dazed bewilderment at existing, _really_ existing, and it was some time before he had any cognisance of his surroundings. The transition between the two states may have taken an hour, a day, a week, or longer. A slow draft moved through the space, and though he didn’t see anyone, he knew he was not alone.

What was more, he felt… He felt… He wasn’t sure quite what he felt. It was something entirely unfamiliar. A tugging on his very being, but what it meant he couldn’t say. Whoever else was there, they’d left their scent around the crypt, but he couldn’t recognize it beyond that it belonged to another higher vampire. It had been a long time since he’d spent extended time amongst his kind. Regis was beginning to suspect what the tugging sensation might be, and he tried not to think about what would have caused such a bond. The presence of the other felt strong enough that Regis thought the other vampire must be nearby, but he didn’t see any recent trace, and the smells he now realized were faint.

Glowing embers in braziers lit the stones crypt in a nearly imperceptible orange glow. Had he been human, it would have been far too dark to make out any detail in the room. He laid supine on a simple cot with roughspun blankets that smelled fresh. The entire place was tidy, free of cobwebs and recently swept. Crisp, dry air circulated, not the least bit damp or musty. Every now and then something stirred deep in the crypts, and the clattering of stones echoed through the walls. Underground it was hard to know the season or even the time of day, as it was always cool and dark. How much time had passed? How long had he been dead? And where was he now?

He sat up, or rather tried to. After managing to raise himself to his elbows a sharp pain shot through his spine and he fell back to the cot with a cry. He groaned and tried again, this time more slowly, but gave up when the pain returned. The longer he was conscious the worse the pain became. A part of him wished he were still dead.

As if a thread linking the two were suddenly pulled taught, Regis felt the other’s presence returning. He thought it odd that he only felt their bond, didn’t sense the other through any means besides this new, invisible line that connected them. It took several long minutes for the other vampire to materialize silently beside him. Regis wondered how far off he had been as he looked up at the other, who’d taken a humanoid form.

Regis did not recognize his face. The man had carefully managed black hair, and wore a black duster. His eyes were a fierce blue around reflective pupils. His lightly lined face was set in an even, stern expression. Without a word, the man in black held out a goblet to Regis, and Regis began to reach for it before he smelled the blood it contained. He was ashamed that, for just a moment, he had almost taken it anyways. It would have helped with the pain, and resisting was much, much harder than it had been before this particular death.

“Thank you,” Regis said. His voice was barely a harsh whisper. Clearing his throat didn't help. “But...I don’t.” The other vampire blinked, and Regis continued. “I don’t drink blood.”

The other’s eyebrows raised to nearly meet his hairline. “ _You_ don’t drink blood?”

The degree of emphasis the man put on ‘you’ clearly indicated that the other vampire, in fact, knew Regis. There was only one era in his life where he would have met someone he had next to no memory of who would remember him, and on top of that look positively shocked that Regis no longer consumed blood. Regis once again wished he were still dead.

"Not for centuries now," Regis explained. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was what was relevant.

The other nodded and set the goblet aside. He looked relieved. "I'm glad to hear you've abandoned your reckless stupidity."

Regis laughed, but it quickly turned into a cough. "That would be an overstatement. Reckless stupidity is a much fiercer addiction to break." The other froze, eyes widening slightly. “Yes?” Regis asked.

"You overcame an addiction...I should have realized. I'm...sorry."

"It's in the past. It has no bearing on you." Even as Regis said it, he didn't feel it was true, but he also couldn’t remember how well he’d known this vampire or for how long. He was afraid to even ask the other’s name for fear of insulting him after the other had looked after Regis during the likely many centuries it had taken his body to recover.

"I meant…" The other vampire frowned and hesitantly met Regis’s gaze. "I used my own blood to accelerate your regeneration. I wouldn't have, had I known."

Regis's skin crawled, though he knew he didn’t have the right to be upset about that. It was the only reason he was currently alive, and it wasn’t as if he’d died sober. In any case, his suspicion around the tugging sensation was confirmed. He was linked to the other now by blood. They shared a bond deeper than kinship, though at a high cost to them both. He had consumed blood while he was unconscious, though how much was still a question Regis wasn’t ready to learn the answer to.

"That's alright," he lied. "I'll manage I’m sure. How...how much time has passed, then?" The faces of his mortal friends flashed in his mind. Most, if not all of them, were likely dead, either killed at Stygga Castle or, if they’d survived, long passed from old age. The witcher may live, depending on how much time had passed and what had happened immediately following Regis’s death. He didn’t want to be too hopeful though.

“I cannot know how long you were gone before I found you,” the other confessed. “The current year is 1270.”

Regis’s eyes flew wide open. “That...can’t be right. It’s barely been a few years if that’s true.”

“It is true,” the other assured him.

Regis clenched his fists to stop them from trembling. “How much of your blood did you give me?”

“As much as you would take. Which was, I admit, much more than I’d initially intended, almost more than I could safely give. You...were difficult to satisfy. I realize why now and...I truly am sorry. Profoundly.”

The thought of having to endure the withdrawal again… And this time he wouldn’t have the aid of his physical form being utterly nonfunctional to stop him from giving in. But again, he should have thought of that before...taking action himself...

“You’re angry,” the other said simply.

“I am. I’m trying not to be, but…”

“Here, if you won’t drink blood, at least have this. It should make it easier.”

The other moved to a table a few feet away and retrieved a tin mug and a glass bottle of what smelled like vodka and poured. As he came back and offered the mug to him, Regis was ready to refuse, to explain himself more clearly. _I don’t drink at all. I don’t use any substance that carries the danger of clouding my mind, even if the risk is so slight as to make it nonexistent. I can’t lose control of myself again. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take_.

Even as the words ran through his mind, Regis sat up as far as his spine would allow and knocked back the shot. The taste burned, but beyond that he felt nothing. It was a relief and a disappointment. He held the mug out to the other who, rather than taking it back as Regis had assumed he would, wordlessly refilled it. Regis didn’t argue and drank until some semblance of numbing warmth hit his gut, and then he settled back down with a sigh. _Replacing one vice with another… At least this doesn’t have the same potentiality of causing great harm to others._

“You don’t remember my name, do you?” the other asked as he shook the last drops out of the mug and put it away.

Regis frowned and didn’t answer.

“It’s Dettlaff. Dettlaff van der Eretein.”

The name did sound familiar. “Dettlaff…”

“Don’t forget this time.”

“I won’t. And if I might ask...why are you helping me?”

Dettlaff stopped and looked at him seriously for a long minute. “Because you needed help,” he said after the silence. “You needed help that I could give.”

“Can I be candid with you, Dettlaff?”

“Of course.”

“You ought to have left me wherever and however you found me. I don’t believe I deserve your help. I’m not sure what I could have possibly done for someone to...well… The blood pact aside, even just watching over me while I healed. It’s… I’m very certain I don’t deserve it.”

“You do,” Dettlaff said. “And you talk a lot for someone who was effectively dead a few hours ago.”

Regis muttered something along the lines of, “I can assure you this is the least verbose I’ve been in my entire life,” but he didn’t think the other heard. He looked up at Dettlaff.

When Regis looked at him, Dettlaff continued. “I can feel your soul as if it were my own, now that we are bound. You do deserve to have someone look after you. I sense you have done the same for countless others.”

“Yet I’ve hardly begun to make up for who I was before. You knew me back then, yes? When I was...well…”

“The most consistently intoxicated vampire I’d ever met?”

Regis nodded.

“I knew you, not particularly well though. We had acquaintances in common, but I was never fond of most of the people you kept close to you. No respect for the lives of others, regardless of species. Reprehensible, childish, and foolish.”

“This is sounding like an argument in favor of your leaving me dead.”

“No, it’s… The few times we spoke, I had the impression you were lost. I tried to explain to you what was unacceptable about the behavior of you and your friends, but you took great offense. I felt...you had the potential to redeem yourself. Now I see you already have, and while I regret giving you blood without considering the consequences, I...am very glad that I brought you here, and I’m confident you’ll overcome any withdrawal with time. I will help however I can. I am honored to be connected to you by blood.”

Regis watched Dettlaff mess with the hems of his coat sleeves for a long moment before speaking. “The honor is mine… Dettlaff?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

\--------

With the ports of Novigrad open to the sea and thus the entire world, the market was filled with anything one could imagine, and quite a bit one couldn’t have imagined until seeing it. As the sun set orange in the west, oil lamps were lit at every stall, and the market was cast in a warm glow beneath the pink cloud-covered sky. The breeze that lifted and flapped the canvas stretched over the stalls smelled of sea foam, fish, and rotting wood. The market was bustling even at this hour, and in his dark and drab clothing, Regis went entirely unremarked as he wove through the crowds and browsed the stalls that remained open. Hawkers shouted the discounts on the remains of the day’s catch, and a trio of early drinkers had begun singing, or rather hollering, a tune that Regis didn’t recognize. Regis scanned the stalls, lost almost entirely in thought.

When Dettlaff had first revived him, Regis worried that their obligation to each other was fairly one sided. Regis had been dead, very dead. Beyond that, the recovery process had triggered a long and difficult period of withdrawal, which the other had helped him through. He couldn’t help feeling he’d been a burden, though Dettlaff’s help wasn’t something he’d directly asked for. Once Regis was well enough to take care of himself again, he saw Dettlaff rarely, but nearly always felt the thread that linked them, felt where Dettlaff was and what he was doing, and what he was feeling.

That last one worried him. Dettlaff was not naturally drawn to humans, but as he and Regis had become closer, the other vampire had become curious. Regis spoke of his human friends often, of the hope that some may still be alive and the fear of ever trying to reconnect only to find they’d all been killed. The only one among them that he was quite sure was still alive was Dandelion, and that was only because the poet still published his sagas and ballads regularly. Regis read every word he managed to get his hands on, but otherwise kept his distance. He tried not to let the witcher’s continued presence in the poet’s songs give him too much hope that Geralt was still alive. The poet was known to...embellish his stories. He was human, after all

It struck Regis that Dettlaff didn’t understand humanity at all. Dettlaff had a strict moral code. The world was black and white to him, and his decisions were often made instantly, on intuition and instinct alone, with no room for nuance or persuasion. In Regis’s experience, these were not modes of thinking which served one when trying to integrate with humanity, or the other races for that matter. Their world was gray, cerebral, and muddled with emotions they didn’t understand. It suited Regis well, actually, as he was wont both to overthink and over-explain. Dettlaff on the other hand…

Still, the other had made an unimaginable sacrifice reviving Regis, and he was eternally grateful for that. It was a debt he didn’t think he’d ever pay off, and the other vampire didn’t seem to expect him to, but he wanted to try. Reciprocity was an element of the human psyche that he felt Dettlaff would appreciate. The large part of what Regis did to repay him was to subtly try steering Dettlaff in the right direction in his interactions with humans. The other was simply showing the other kindness and affection. It was painfully obvious the other needed it, though he seemed either unaware of this or didn’t know how to go about forming emotional closeness.

And that was what brought Regis to the market in Novigrad that evening. The trouble with having a deep soul bond with another was that it was awfully difficult to surprise them. Even having let the metaphorical line that tethered them run slack, as Dettlaff did more and more recently, there was still the issue of his having been so close to Regis while he was healing over the course of several years. They had been each other’s only company, and there were a few hazy months toward the end when Regis had begun to think of them as a single entity.

But, like all things, it hadn’t lasted. What was left were more memories, and another person to miss. Though with Dettlaff, the feeling was altogether different, as their bond kept him ever in the present. No matter how far apart they were physically, they were always hand in hand metaphysically, and always would be. At once, it made the vampire impossible to miss, and impossible not to. And what was more--wait, wait. What was that amongst the clutter at that stall across the way?

A jewel encrusted brooch in the shape of a moth caught Regis’s eye. It was beautiful, brass and ever so slightly aged. The flame of an oil lamp reflected in the jewel facets. _Like moth to flame_ … Regis thought idly as he turned the piece over in his hand, inspecting the details critically. The merchant told him the price, but he wasn’t paying attention. The thorax of the moth was cast as a wraith-like face, and the wings could be moved to reveal the abdomen beneath. It was well crafted, and had either been used only rarely or had otherwise been very well cared for. Dettlaff wasn’t one to wear a color that wasn’t black, but aside from that Regis thought the aesthetic suited him well. Moreover, the idea of a moth drawn to flame felt fitting, though Regis would have to figure out the details of that connection before he presented the gift to his friend.

He walked away from the booth, still inspecting the brooch in his hands and running his fingers carefully over the detail. It wasn’t until he was well outside the market that he realized he’d forgotten to pay. But, as usual, no one seemed to notice him.

\---

“It’s a moth.”

“Yes, of a kind. It’s stylized to a degree, but I believe it’s meant to resemble _acherontia atropos,_ or more commonly named the death’s head hawk moth. A moth is a creature that, despite being most active at night, is drawn to light so indiscriminately that it is most often drawn to flame. In that way, though it is at its core drawn to light and the good it symbolizes, it is also drawn to its own destruction, unaware until it’s been consumed by fire. The flame could symbolize many things: death, passion...”

“It’s a creature connected to the night, like me.”

“That...is also a valid interpretation of its symbolism, yes.”


End file.
